


DNF

by Lovova



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 05:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1253776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovova/pseuds/Lovova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ross plays Trials for a solid day, and goes a little insane because of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	DNF

DNF  
Could also be called ‘Ross Has A Moment’.  
Or maybe ‘Smith and Trott Probably Could Have Called the Police, But What Fun Is That?’  
Or even ‘Pretty Much Another Entirely Pointless Story’

A Hat Films fanfic

By Lovova

Disclaimer: Hat Films belong to themselves, as do all members of the Yogscast, who do not endorse me or my work; also, as far as I know, Ross has never tried to murder anyone. This story was born from boredom, caffeine, and time, and is not meant to slander any name or group mentioned. Cool? Cool.

-

“Is he still playing?”

“He’s determined, I’ll give him that.”

“This cannot be good for him. I think I heard him crying an hour ago. Like real, sobbing tears. And then he started screaming.”

“Maybe he was having a crank?”

“I don’t think he’s eaten since yesterday!”

“I’m sure he’s fine, why are you so worried?”

“Because this is insane! A man shouldn’t play Trials for twenty-four hours straight, the frustration alone is going to kill him!”

“Nah, Ross knows his limits. He’ll be fine. You’re thinking this too hard, Smith.”

“You’re both insane. This is going to end so badly.”

“Nah.”

-

D.N.F.

DNF.

Did not finish.

Ross considered that phrase for a while. It swam through his brain, like...like a fish. Like a lot of fish. Like, if every time he had seen that phrase was a fish, then Ross’s brain would be...a fish tank. At a pet shop. With just a shit-ton of fish inside of it. Only the pet shop owner was out, for, like...days. The pet shop owner was dead. And the tank with all of the little fish was just getting really dirty and polluted, and all the fish had started eating each other...just a frenzy of poo-covered, cannibalistic fish, just...racing through his brain. Yeah. That metaphor works. Ross was real proud of that metaphor.

For a moment he sat on the couch and just basked in the pride of being able to coherently put sentences together, which is a difficult feat after twenty-four hours worth of trials. Then he saw that phrase again, the DNF, and all pride left him. He frowned and slouched and it was like...like if all of those fish...had just become piranhas...and they were biting...away at his sanity.

He had just wanted to play for, like, twenty minutes. Just a little bit of practice at finishing an actual map, without Trott just fucking finishing the whole thing and making it impossible. He just wanted to win. There was nothing wrong with wanting to win. But then twenty minutes had gone by, and….DNF. Only DNF.

So he had decided he’d keep going until he didn’t DNF. He hadn’t made it easy on himself either. No cheating. Only hard maps. He had even tried an extreme map. That was when he had started crying and screaming. But that had been okay. That had been twelve hours in. He hadn’t so much as spoken since then. He was okay. Really.

He stared at the DNF...and he sighed. He couldn’t go on like this. He couldn’t stand another minute of trials. Of DNFing. There was only one thing to do...yep.

But he wasn’t going down alone. He brought out his phone.

-

It was one in the morning. It was one of those rare mornings where Trott was actually asleep. Which is why he was annoyed when he woke up to see Ross calling him.

“Ross,” Trott answered groggily, groaning as he caught the time on the phones lsd, “Why are you calling me from downstairs?”

“Heeeey, buddy!” Ross said, a tad too cheerfully, “Actually, I’m at the store right now. Guess what I’m doing?”

“Bothering Chris Trott?” Trott guessed. It was a reasonable guess. That was typically what his friends were doing.

“Sort of,” Ross admitted, “I am buying me one of those really heavy sledge hammers, because tonight I am going to murder you and Smith, alright? I’m not skimping out, either, this thing is beautiful, Trott, wait till you see it. You’ll really be able to admire the quality of the metal when I am squishing in your eyeballs with it.”

“You kept playing Trials, didn’t you.” Trott said, distinctly unimpressed, “Smith warned me you were still playing. Mate, you know better than to play alone, it’s really frustrating to just keep trying over and over again like that.”

“Look, I am in a lot of pain right now, and the only thing that is going to appease me is some good old double-homicide/suicide. Would you mind letting Smith know for me that his hours are numbered? I’d call myself, but I’m coming up to the register and its just so rude to talk to the cashier and be on the phone at the same time, you know?”

“Oh, get off it, Ross, you’re not going to be able to stay angry on the ride home, we both know this. You get yourself all worked up and you go buy your murder weapons and by the time you get back your tired and bothering me to make you a sandwich.”

“Not this time!” Ross said, full of giddy determination, “This is the night, Trott, we are all meeting our makers tonight! But if you want to make a sandwich for me before I get home, just in case, I will not say no to it. Thanks mate, see you soon.”

Ross hung up and Trott stared blearily at the phone for awhile before sighing and getting up. He left his room and shuffled down the hall, knocking on Smith’s door.

“Smith, Smith, mate, you up?” Trott called through the door, light coming in around its frames.

“Yeah, come on in,” Smith looked up from his handheld as Trott came in, not having even gotten out of his day clothes yet, “What’s up?”

“Ross is going to try and murder us again.” Trott explained, “I don’t know, he seems pretty gung ho this time. We might want to...do something about it.” He finished lamely, shrugging.

Smith rubbed at his eyes, groaning, “See, this is why we don’t let him fucking pull an all nighter on god damned Trials, Trott, I told you something like this was going to happen. Did he mention how he was going to try and kill us?”

“Sledgehammer.”

“What, he didn’t go for the chainsaw? He swore up and down last time that he was going to spring for a chainsaw.”

“What can I say? He went sledgehammer.”

“Alright, well, help me move the dresser.”

-

Ross was driving home, and was doing his best to keep his murder jive going. He didn’t much like heavy metal at all, but right now it was blaring in his car, his hatred for the genre as much keeping his rage level up as the screaming beat behind it was. After awhile he started screaming along, because why not? He kind of liked screaming along with it. The music was a lot more fun when you get involved. Still shit to listen to, but it was doing the job. 

He was really proud of the sledgehammer he had picked out. It was huge and heavy and delightfully phallic. He felt like an ancient warrior holding it. He was going to enjoy breaking bones with it. The night was really shaping up to be something special.

When he got home he saw that all the lights were on, and sat on a stool in front of the door was a sandwich on a plate, with a note on top.

‘GO TO SLEEP’ the note read. It was a nice sandwich. Ross enjoyed eating it on his way up the stairs.

“Nice try guys!” Ross called out, all the doors in the hall closed, sledgehammer in hand, “I’m still killing us all tonight. Look, if you come out I swear I will make it super quick. You just put your heads on the floor and I’ll swing down and splat! Like cracking a really big egg. It’ll be fun!” Ross opened the first door he came across, which was to Trott’s room. It opened without resistance, and the room was vacant. He continued down the hall. “I promise it won’t hurt at all. Unless I miss and only, say, graze you. I might just let you bleed out in that case. That might hurt, I’m not gonna lie. Mates? You in there?”

Ross tried Smith’s door, and wasn’t terribly surprised to find it locked. He grinned and lifted up the sledgehammer. Without a word, he drew the thing back and, with as much strength as he could put into it, slammed it against the door.

“Ow!” Ross screamed, the vibration of the blow shooting up his arm and taking him by surprise, nearly dropping the sledgehammer in question “Fuck!”

There was laughter from the other side of the door. The fuckers.

“Ross, mate, just go to sleep already!” Smith called from the other side of the door, Trott still giggling as Ross cursed again, sucking at his fingers, “You’ll feel better in the morning. Or, afternoon, at this rate.”

“What, you think I’m done?” Ross practically growled, readying the sledgehammer again, “That was only the first attempt, boyos. Here’s….fuck, how does that quote go? Guys, what was the name of that guy, he was in that movie where he took an axe through the door…”

“Go to sleep Ross!”

“Oh, fuck you guys. Danny! Was it Danny? Maybe it was Johnny. Whatever, who cares, here’sssss Ross!” Ross tried it again, and was ready for the recoil this time, the door notably moving, and he could heard furniture on the other side shift. There was cracks on the frame. Progress!

“We are so not getting our deposit back.” Trott muttered as he and Smith moved to push the furniture back in place against the door, “Smith maybe we should try and take him? Tie him up, make him sleep?”

“Mate, he’s swinging around a giant freaking hammer. If he even manages to clip us with it, it’s going to hurt like hell,” Smith argued, wincing as Ross took another swing at the door, “Nah, there’s gotta be another way.”

Another slam. The door wasn’t going to hold much longer. “Out the window maybe?” Trott suggested.

“That’s a sheer drop, Trott, I wouldn’t like to do it if I didn’t have to.” Another slam, “Mind you, still better than a hammer to the face.” Another slam. An idea occurred to Smith, and he pulled out his phone. “Wait, hold on, I got this.”

“Who are you calling?” Trott asked, looking grim as he heard the metal of the lock cracked against the frame of the door. “If you’re calling for dominos, I don’t think more food is going to appease him. I make a damn good sandwich, mate.”

“No one is contesting your sandwich making skills, Trott,” Smith was quick to assure, pulling up his contact list, the phone ringing, “I am simply calling for some reinforcements.”

-

Stippin’s phone started ringing. And though he was up and just getting out of the gym, he still was more than a little surprised that he was getting a call at two in the morning. Still, he saw who it was and didn’t hesitate to answer, “Sup’ Smithy. What’chya still doing up?”

He heard the explanation, and at first he laughed, because obviously Smith was putting him on. Then he heard the sound of wood splintering in the background and said, “Woah, shit, are you being serious right now?!...yeah, I mean…sure Smith, just let me make a few calls. Hang tight.”

-

“Guuuys,” Ross whined, sweating heavily now and swaying a bit. It really had been a long time since he had last slept, “Come on, just move the furniture out of the way, would you? I’ve practically destroyed the door already, its really only a matter of time before I get though. Can’t you just make this easy? My arms are starting to hurt.”

“If your arms hurt then stop trying to kill us!” Trott shouted from the other side of the door, adding in quite reasonably, “Do you have any idea how pissed off our neighbors must be right now? God, we thought they hated us before! We are going to get some nasty looks the next time we happen to be in the driving lot at the same time.”

“Well, I can just kill them too,” Ross muttered, but without much enthusiasm. He was getting sleepy. “Smith, what if we just killed Trott, yeah? Just bring him out here, I’ll smush his head in, we’ll call it a night?”

“Mmmm,” Hmmmed Smith, while Trott gave him a mildly startled look, shocked that Smith would even consider it. Smith laughed at the look, “nah, mate, I’m just playing with ya, I ain’t gonna help him smush your head in. Answer is no, Ross!” Smith called to the other side of the door, “How about just no one dies tonight and we all laugh about this after a solid days worth of sleep, yeah?”

“How about you just...wait...do I hear a car?” Ross asked, leaving the shattered door for a minute to head to Trott’s room, peeking out the window. Outside in the driveway was a car, lights off, and...he couldn’t see anyone in it, though it must have only just parked itself. He eyed the yard critically before deciding it must have been their neighbors, having guests over, before heading back to Smith’s room.

The door was fucking open! 

Ross knew it was too late already, but he still sprang inside, looking around wildly to see if either of his friends remained, but no. They had made a run for it while he was distracted. Still, they had to still be in the house somewhere, otherwise he’d have heard their car going. Yes, this logic was perfect. “Guys?” He called out, glancing at the stairs. Could they be downstairs? “Guuuys? What are you doing, guys?”

No answer. Okay then. 

Ross got a more secure grip of his beautiful, if slightly a great deal more damaged, sledgehammer and slowly headed down the staircase, taking caution to keep an eye on the front door, which was still closed from when he had come in earlier. They had to still be in the house. Maybe the kitchen?  
“Mates, you are really making this more difficult than it has to be,” Ross shouted into the house, suddenly feeling inexplicably nervous. It had occurred to him that perhaps double homicide via skull cracking was a little more difficult when the victims knew you were coming for said skull cracking. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so eager to call them up and taunt them about their upcoming demise on the way here? The kitchen too was empty, but the back door was open! They had been careless in their escape, and now he would have them trapped between the house and the fence, with nothing to see in their light of their dying eyes but Djh3max’s murderous, triumphant grin and perhaps a maggot covered raw chicken, if it had still managed to last all this time: the three hadn’t had the stomach to check in ages.

Ross was not a quick man, but he was a strong one, when the need arose; so, when Duncan’s Doomhammer came swinging around towards his face the second Ross stepped out the door, nervous reflex brought the stick of the sledgehammer up, Ross holding both ends with enough force so as to cause Doomhammer to ricochet off the wood, sending Duncan backwards, where Smith made a somewhat clumsy attempt to catch him, sending them both to the ground.

Before Ross had a chance to even be smug, Strippin stepped in front of the two fallen gamers, looking solemn as he held up the great sword (okay, replica, if you want to get boring and technical) Frostmourne, Trott not too far behind him. “Ross, this is your only warning. Put down the sledgehammer, before I make you put it down.”

While Duncans attack had been feeble and easily countered, Ross knew that the sheer bulk of his body-building friend would send him to his knees, regardless of how good with that sword Strippin actually ended up being. Sweat was dripping off the blue-eyed brunette, still exhausted from his earlier work on Smith’s door. Ugh, maybe he should just stop...but… “But Trials, Strippin,” Ross said, a certain sort of pleading in his tone, as he tried to make his friend understand, “Just...I can’t...just...I…” and then Ross’s eyes narrowed, and for the first time that night he looked genuinely angry, enraged even, and truly like the killer he intended to be, “I already DNF on Trials, you can’t make me DNF on this! I won’t! I’ll kill you two as well! I’ll kill all of the Yogscast if I have too!”

“No, friend, I don’t think you will.” Lewis said from behind Ross, and that was when Simon brought down the blunt end of a stick he would affectionately term ‘poking-stick2.0’ on Ross’s head, knocking him right the fuck out.

-

Ross woke up a couple of hours later, in his bed. He stayed in his bed for another twenty minutes, sporting a headache, before finally willing himself to get up. Walking out of his room, he heard the others in the kitchen and walked in, feeling ever so slightly shame-faced as he spotted some of the scuff-marks on the floor from last nights struggles. Trott was cooking breakfast and Smith was eating some cereal, the both of them having gone to bed and woken up recently as well. “Simon says sorry about the bump on your head,” Trott relayed to him, “But he also said to tell you that you deserved it for being an absolute nutter. His words, not mine. Want me to throw on some bacon for you mate?”

“Yeah, sure, thanks.” Ross muttered, embarrassed as he sat down at the table, “So...I’m a little foggy on some of the details...did I actually go out and pay eighty for a freaking sledgehammer last night? What is that, just a bit of metal on a long stick? That’s basically robbery!”

“Forget that, mate, the amount of money we’re going to need to repair my door is just stomach turning.” Smith groaned, “You should have gone for the chainsaw, mate, you said you would. It would have been cleaner.”

“Yeah, I think the chainsaw was so expensive that even in a homicidal rage I couldn’t bring myself to buy it,” Ross explained, “So, about last night...sorry about that.”

Trott shrugged, “Don’t worry about it, Rock, we’ve all been there. Nerd rage gets to the best of us. Remember that one time I tried driving us all into a lake?”

“Oh god, yeah, we only barely made it out of that, that was a good one,” Smith laughed, “Or that time that I made good on my threat to fill Trott’s room with gas and not let him out? What did the doctor say, that you were technically dead for like a minute and a half?”

“It was only a minute, if even that, don’t flatter yourself.” Trott replied sternly, handing Ross some of the bacon he had made for himself, since the poor guy was looking pretty down on himself, “The others understood, though Lewis wouldn't stop bitching about having to be woken up to deal with petty things like employees trying to kill each other.”

“Yeah, otherwise they were pretty cool about it. Oh, but Duncan sent me a text, like, an hour later,” Smith said with a frown, “He didn't like you threatening to kill everyone in the Yogscast, so he says he’s put a bomb beneath our house and says he’ll use it if we let our murder attempts get outside the three of us again. I’m not sure if he can really do that, but we might not want to try going into our floorboards for awhile.”

“Fair enough.” Ross agreed, nibbling on the bacon. “Okay, well, with that behind us, what are we going to record today guys? Worms? Feed the Beast? Maybe work on Origins a bit?”

All three of the sirs erupted into boisterous, mocking laughter at the last suggestion. The laughter lasted a really long time, and all around the world, fans suddenly felt inexplicable sadness, as if all of a fandom shouted out in hope at once, and was suddenly silenced. Wiping a hysterical tear from his eye, Ross said, “Yes, yes, but seriously, what are we recording today?”

Trott and Smith suddenly looked at each other nervously, before Trott said, somewhat cautiously, “Well, mate….since we have to have a video of it out tomorrow...because of our schedule, you know….we need to record a little bit of, well….some Trials.”

Ross smashed his plate against Smith’s head and then jabbed Trott in the thigh with his fork. Fortunately Smith recovered his senses before Ross could finish drowning Trott in the sink, hit Ross with the grease covered frying pan, and then they went to record some trials, and otherwise had a fairly standard day.

The End


End file.
